


World Cup: Destiel Edition

by aperry33



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Athletic Destiel, Bottom Dean, Football | Soccer, M/M, Rimming, Top Castiel/Bottom Dean Winchester, World Cup Inaccuracies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-21
Updated: 2018-06-21
Packaged: 2019-05-26 08:33:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,963
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14996939
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aperry33/pseuds/aperry33
Summary: Dean and Cas are on opposite teams, fighting for the World Cup. Being opponents won't keep them apart, though. And it certainly won't keep them from one last meeting the night before they face each other on the field.





	World Cup: Destiel Edition

**Author's Note:**

> Yes, I'm aware there are quite a few things I'm pulling out of my ass here. Shhhhh. Just enjoy.

 

 

Alright. Technically speaking, they shouldn’t be doing this.

 

Opposing teams gave each other a wide berth when it comes to the World Cup. Separate hotels, separate transportation, separate dinner reservations, yadda yadda yadda. The tournament is a money pit anyway, so the hosting city usually went all out to show the guys a good time, no expense spared.

 

This time is no different, which makes sneaking into one of his opponent’s hotel rooms increasingly difficult.

 

If he’s caught he could be fined- or worse, the media could get ahold of it and there’d be hell to pay. He’d never hear the end of it, and since the game is tomorrow, he really couldn’t afford the commotion that came with that drama.

 

Still worth it though. It’d always be worth it.

 

Rolling his eyes at himself, he grabs one of the free newspapers from the hotel lobby and opens it in the hope that it will hide his face.

 

 _Super subtle, Dean. No one will even notice_ , he thinks.

 

Walking as quickly as he can to the elevator, avoiding any and all eye contact with the people walking by, he breathes a sigh of relief and jams the button to close the door when he’s in. How he got an elevator all to himself with all these people milling about in excitement is beyond him.

 

There’s people _everywhere._ Lining the streets, crowding the bars. The entire country was up in arms for the tournament, and it hadn’t even started yet. But here, especially. An angel must’ve been watching his back, because this is where Russia’s home team is staying.

 

“Of course you have to be on the top floor,” he mutters under his breath, feeling his anxiety level spiking with every floor he ascends. The stupid elevator music is definitely not helping either. “Seventeen, eighteen, nineteen, fucking finally; twenty.”

 

There’s barely enough room for his shoulders to pass before he’s through the doors and rounding the corner; eyes bouncing left and right for the right room number.

 

End of the freaking hallway. Of course.

 

He basically runs there, only hesitating a moment before knocking twice as quietly as he can away with.

 

This jackass better not keep him waiting…

 

He’s about to check his texts for the thousandth time when he’s rewarded with the door cracking an inch, and a pair of blue eyes looking him up and down. Assessing him.

 

“Take a picture,” he smirks, pushing the door open. “It’ll last-“

 

That’s all he manages before he’s shoved against the door and lips are silencing his own.

 

 _Fuck_ \- he’d missed this.

 

Tongues and teeth are clashing and hands….god his hands are everywhere and no where all at once.

 

“Fuck, Cas. If I’d known you’d be this happy to see me after only three weeks, I would’ve left sooner,” he grins, biting his lip when Cas growls against his neck.

 

“Don’t even kid about that,” Cas rasps, slight Russian accent making his voice sound even more sharp. “It’s been too long.”

 

He’d been in America for at least twelve years, but hadn’t managed to lose it in the slightest. It made the man self conscious sometimes, but not here. Here, Dean was the one with an accent.

 

“S’not the only thing that’s long,” he jokes, swiveling his hips suggestively. Cas has him trapped against the door with his body, toes to nose aligned. It’d be pretty hard to miss the erection straining against his hip. “Damn, you _are_ happy to see me.”

 

“You talk too much,” Cas says, kissing a trail up his throat until he can reclaim Dean’s lips.

 

This time it’s a lot less violent yet no less passionate. Their lips moves in practiced synchrony, a dance they know all the steps to. They’ve been together for going on a year now, so when Cas’ tongue starts pushing against his harder, he lets him. And when Cas wedges himself between Dean’s legs and _thrusts_ … well, he spreads his legs.

 

“You like when I talk though,” he says breathily when they part for air. He let’s his hands smooth down Cas’s toned back until he has a solid handful of Cas’s ass in both hands. “Don’t you? Especially in bed.”

 

“I think,” Cas murmurs against the shell of Dean’s ear- and dear god, is Cas’s playoff scruff _doing_ things to him- and gets a firm grip in Dean’s hair. “I prefer for your mouth to be doing other things.”

 

His grip tightens, and suddenly Dean is being lightly guided to his knees.

 

“Please tell me you showered after practice,” he says like he’s not already unzipping his jeans and pulling down Cas’s briefs with greedy fingers. It wouldn’t be the first time they’d gone without. But since the game is tomorrow, Cas’s team basically only had a warm up today. As had Dean’s.

 

They would soon be sweating more than they had all day, that is for sure.

 

He doesn’t even pause for a response before Cas’s dick is in his mouth and he’s sucking on it like his favorite flavored popsicle.

 

“Mmmmm,” Cas hums, weaving his fingers in Dean’s hair like he knows Dean likes. “Of course I did. Just for you,” he chuckles then moans when Dean’s hands join the mix.

 

Dean pops off for a second to smirk up at Cas, the head still pressed against the corner of his lips as he continues the motion of his fingers at the base. “Wow, you sure you aren’t a keeper?”

 

Cas rolls his eyes and guides Dean’s mouth over his dick again; pushing until Dean moans. “Saying that joke again doesn’t make it any more funny, Dean.”

 

The laugh around his dick does make him smile fondly though.

 

He’s had to suffer through lame soccer jokes for _years._ Even before they started sleeping together they’d been team mates for three years- playing for the same club team. He really had no excuse when they started dating. He knew what he was signing himself up for.

 

Dean’s sense of humor was only part of the reason he loves the man currently sucking his dick.

 

“Jesus, Dean,” he hisses, tempted to throw his head back at the sight Dean makes. Fully clothed, on his knees, eyes half lidded with his lips spread wide. He’s a dream. “Your lips. Will never get tired of them.”

 

Dean hums in agreement, the vibration of it sending pleasure spiking all along his spine- signaling the edge of the cliff. Which is not where he needs this night to end.

 

“Hey-” Dean grumbles.

 

He uses his grip to pull Dean off and up, barely letting him off his knees before crashing their mouths together again.

 

“You’re so pushy,” Dean pants loudly, not fighting as Cas gets to work on his clothes. “I was trying to reacquaint myself with your dick.”

 

“Don’t worry about that,” Cas mutters, distracted by getting Dean naked. When he's finally- gloriously- naked, he grips Dean’s thighs and wraps them around his waist- only Cas’s jeans in the way now. “You’ll be reacquainted with it very soon.”

 

“Cas, I swear to _god_ if I’m sore tomorrow I’m taking it out on _your_ ass,” Dean huffs as he’s unceremoniously dumped onto the bed. Cas ignores him completely, stripping out of the rest of his clothes in a rush, and then crawling over him to start mouthing at his neck. “I’m serious. Remember that game in Brazil? I missed that PK ‘cuz I couldn’t even stand straight.”

 

“Okay, Dean,” Cas scoffs against his skin. “ _That’s_ the only reason you missed it.”

 

“It was, smart ass. Couldn’t sit properly for three days…” he trails off wistfully. That was a good night. Too good.

 

“Doesn’t sound like a complaint to me,” he ghosts his mouth slowly down Dean’s chest until he can suck and nip at Dean’s nipple.

 

“Well it is. No funny business until after the cup. One quick fuck for good luck, then we gotta get our heads in the came, capisce?” Dean pushes Cas’s head back until he can see his eyes.

 

“I capisce,” Cas says solemnly, the humor in his eyes pretty much negating the flimsy promise. They both knew this was a bad idea, yet it’s never stopped them before.

 

“Yeah, yeah,” Dean rolls his eyes, unconvinced. “Just go get the lube, stud. We need to get this show on the road.”

 

Cas rolls off of him to dig around in his duffle, but Dean can hear him grumbling under his breath as he goes. “-Don’t understand why we can’t just stay in the same room.”

 

“You know why,” he says to the ceiling. “We’re not on the same team right now. And your country ain’t exactly the most accepting country either… ”

 

“It shouldn’t matter- we do it all the time. Now is no different.”

 

“It matters a lot though, and you know it,” Dean reasons. “The stakes-”

 

“I know what the stakes are-“ Cas interrupts him icily, shoulders hunching the way they do when he’s upset. “I don’t need a reminder.”

 

“Cas,” he sighs, sitting up- heat forgotten for the moment. “Hey man, I get it. I want to stay with you too. The fact that we gotta sneak around sucks. But it’s not for forever.”

 

“It’s long enough,” Cas grouses, looking away.

 

He has a point. The tournament could go on for a long ass time if both Russia and the U.S. racked up enough points. And since both teams were heavily favored to win it all, this was a likely possibility. They’d discussed this at length of course, but being here, and experiencing it all made it all the more real.

 

Tomorrow was the first game of the World Cup.

 

And tomorrow, Dean and Cas would put on two different jerseys and represent two different countries.

 

Shaking his head to clear it before he loses himself to his nerves, he reaches for his stupid, stubborn boyfriend again.

 

“C’mere baby,” he says softly. “We don’t have that much time, and I wanna feel you.”

 

Cas sighs loudly but complies, locating the lube and climbing back on the bed. It doesn’t take more than a nuzzle to get Dean to lay back down. The way Cas is looking at him right now has Dean closing his eyes. It’s too much.

 

Slowly, he lets his fingers lightly trail down Dean’s body; over spans of hard muscle until he reaches the softer skin between Dean’s thighs, and parts them. Dean’s still hard from when he was sucking Cas off, but Cas ignores it for now in favor of seeking out one of his favorite parts of Dean.

 

When they first started this- neither of them really knew what they were doing and the thought of bottoming scared the shit out of Dean. It’d taken a lot of coaxing and encouragement from Castiel, and even more so after Dean grew self conscious over liking it. It’d taken them a long time to get to here, but now when Cas thumbs apart Dean’s ass cheeks and carefully licks a stripe across his hole, Dean moans and parts his legs further.

 

Dean almost exclusively bottoms now, a fact which makes them both _very_ happy.

 

“Mmmmm there you are,” Cas murmurs, ducking down to suck on the soft pink skin. “I want to hear you, Dean.”

 

“Hnnn- fuck,” Dean gasps, eyes squeezing shut. If he looks down to see Cas between his legs, he’s toast. “Your team mates are next door, smart ass. Now’s not the best time for that.”

 

“I disagree,” he says simply, and then points his tongue and dips _inside._

 

“Ohhh-okay no,” he moans- pushing Cas’s head away quickly. “You know that shit’s my weakness. Let’s move it along, buddy.”

 

“I’m not your ‘buddy,’” Cas grumbles, put out over being denied. He held a vindictive sort of pride over the fact that he could wreck Dean with just his tongue, a skill he liked to use as often as possible. The pout on his face shouldn’t be nearly as endearing as it is.

 

“You’re right, you’re not. You’re my boyfriend. So get on with it,” Dean insists, fondly ruffling Cas’s already crazy bed head. “My ass is await’n.”

 

Cas snorts against the skin of his inner thigh but grabs the lube and drizzles his fingers, so he counts that joke as a win. Even more so when Cas circles his hole twice before sinking his index finger in to the first knuckle.

 

Cas’s still kneeling between his legs, so his eyes are locked on where his finger- scratch that- finger _s_ are slowly disappearing inside his body.

 

 _God_ \- this never gets old.

 

“Cas- come up here,” he pants when Cas’s two fingers start to scissor. He wants to enjoy that scruff while he can.

 

Hungry lips are soon nipping at his jaw, his throat, _everywhere._ All the while his fingers sink in juuuuust that much deeper. Cas situates himself on top of him-between his legs- and looks content to stay there.

 

In and out, in and out, in and out and _twist._

When Cas’s lips part his own, it isn’t for very long.

 

“Give me another,” he moves his lips against Cas’s, sharing their breaths between them.

 

“Too soon,” Cas murmurs back quietly, using his free hand to stroke Dean’s sweaty hair away from his forehead in a move that’s entirely too tender for someone as scary as Cas.

 

He grabs that hand and brings it to his mouth- kissing his palm quickly.

 

“It’s fine. I want it.”

 

The admission has his cheeks flushing a bit, but since it’s too dark for Cas to see, he writes it off. Sometimes he’s amazed by how far they’ve come. How far _he_ has come. Now’s not the time for a trip down memory lane though. Now’s the time to _feel._

 

“Tell me if it’s too much,” Cas says cautiously, a hesitant finger begins to nudge it’s way in with the other two. “Don’t want to hurt you.”

“You won’t,” he sighs back, letting his legs wrap themselves around Cas’s waist. “Feels good.”

 

The stretch burns a little- which is normal since it’s a little too soon- but he isn’t lying when he says it feels good. Sometimes he likes a little pain with the pleasure, a fact Cas is well aware of.

 

“So good. So good for me,” Cas whispers, rubbing their erections together in a slow rhythm that’s driving Dean insane. “Can’t wait to be inside you.”

 

“Soon,” Dean gasps as one of Cas’s fingers touch that place inside him that makes him feel like a goddamn firework. “Right there- do that again.”

 

Cas smirks against his throat and does it again. “Right there?”

 

“Yes. _Yes._ Oh fuck, yeah Cas.”

 

Cas pinpoints the spot and zeros in on it, hitting it again and again until he Dean tells him stop.

 

“Gonna come,” he warns between pants, finger nails digging into Cas’s back in his desperation. He’s so _close._ “I’m ready.”

 

Cas nod and reaches over to the night stand for a condom, rolling it over himself with shaking, impatient fingers. When he’s about to repositions himself over Dean, he almost loses control over himself at the sight he presents. Dean is beautiful.

 

Goddamn, is he a lucky son of a bitch.

 

Quickly taking his spot between Dean’s legs again, he hums with satisfaction as Dean automatically shifts his hips apart and up for him again, twisting until the blunt tip of Castiel’s dick is at his entrance.

 

That’s all the hint Cas needs.

 

Cas ducks down to kiss him at the same time as he slides home, stealing all the air from his lungs and forcing his eyes to squeeze shut in pleasure.

 

Three weeks was definitely too long to go without this.

 

After an initial pause to let Dean’s body get used to the intrusion, Cas pulls out and pushes in shallow little thrusts- enjoying the way Dean’s body moves around him.

 

His pace speeds up after a couple of minutes, but he’s not moving a whole lot- and his face shows that he knows it.

 

“Alright asshole,” Dean huffs, shaking his head. “Enough teasing.”

 

Cas laughs and bites his lip, but doesn’t stop.

 

“Cas,” Dean all but whines. Cas is probably only retreating an inch or two, and the fucker is just watching Dean squirm.

 

“What do you want, Dean? I’m listening,” Cas teases, voice low and frustratingly seductive. He doesn’t stand a chance.

 

“Harder,” he grunts, digging his heels into the backs of Cas’s thick thighs. Who knew Russians were this _annoying._

 

On the next thrust, Cas pulls out about half way before thrusting back in. And he keeps doing it. Its better, but he still knows he’s being played with.

 

This time when Cas goes in, Dean squeezes his muscles and rides up into the movement. When Cas hisses in his ear, he knows he’s won.

 

“Stop dicking around and fuck me, Cas,” he rasps, weaving his fingers in Cas’s hair and tugging.

 

That gets a reaction.

 

Immediately Cas retracts his hips and then _slams_ them back in.

 

The sound that escapes Dean’s throat is not human.

 

It seems that’s all he needed to say to get Cas going- and _boy_ does he. Cas is pulling almost all the way out before slamming back in, over and over and over again- setting a brutal rhythm that has the head board tapping against the wall every other second or so.

 

There’s no way in hell whoevers on the other side of that wall can’t hear it, but Dean can’t locate a single fuck to give at the moment.

 

“Yeah, Cas,” he moans embarrassingly loud. “Yeah.”

 

He was never loud in bed before Cas, but then again he’d never been fucked six ways to Sunday either.

 

Dean bites his lip to silence himself, but the absence of his moans only highlights the obnoxious _slap slap slap_ sound of Cas fucking him into the mattress.

 

Fuck- he’s _definitely_ going to be sore tomorrow.

 

With that thought he pushes Cas away from where he kissing his neck- stealing himself against the look of outrage Cas is now sporting.

 

“Cas, roll over. Let me ride you,” he pants. “I think I’ll be less sore that way.”

 

When Cas just looks at him like he’s lost his damn mind, he pushes his chest harder. “Come on, you goof. Just do it.”

 

Cas grips Dean’s hip and uses his momentum to shift their positions- any reluctance on his face quickly disappearing when Dean gets his knees settled on either side of Cas’s hips.

 

Using Cas’s chest to steady himself, Dean lifts himself up before sinking down again slowly. Cas’s hands run up his thighs to grip his hips, helping Dean build a rhythm.

 

The angle’s not quite right but if he shifts back just a _little-_ there.

 

“Fuck,” Dean gasps at the same time as Cas hisses, “ _Dean.”_

Whatever this position lacks in depth, he makes up for in speed.

 

He leaves the slow rhythm in the dust- slamming himself down hard- until he’s out of breath and bouncing on Cas’s cock like his life depends on it. His thighs are fucking burning, not helped at all by the steely grip Cas has on his hips; pushing him to ride him faster and faster- and fuck, there’s no way he’s not going to feel this in the morning.

 

“Goddamn it, Cas,” he growls, glaring at the man underneath him. “If we lose tomorrow because I’m walking funny- it’s your fucking fault.”

 

Cas barks out a surprised laugh and actually has the audacity to slap his ass.

 

“Dude,” Dean complains. But it’s breathy and quiet, and somehow Cas gets the hint and does it again.

 

“Oh fuck,” he moans, rhythm faltering slightly. “Okay, that took a weird turn. Uh- oh. Yeah. Let’s explore that later.”

 

“I won’t be forgetting any time soon,” Cas assures him fervently, eyes practically searing holes into Dean’s. “And I’ll absolutely let you blame me when my team beats your’s.”

 

That gets him going again.

 

“Pfttt,” he scoffs, ignoring the creaking of the bed as he continues to move up and down. “Mmmmmm like hell. I’d like to see you try and stop me, Mr. Big Bad Defender.”

 

“Won’t have to try all that hard with you limping tomorrow, Winchester,” he punctuates with a hard thrust _up._

“Douche-bag,” he groans. He retaliates with a twisting motion that has Cas throwing his head back as he writhes. He doesn’t really feel like he’s accomplished anything though, besides pushing them both that much closer to the edge. “Even if I am limping, it’s obviously not that hard to get between your legs.”

 

“Oh it’s very hard,” Cas grunts.

 

And suddenly Cas is sitting up, catching Dean’s lips and changing the angle. It’s a good thing Cas swallows his moan between them, because there’s just enough contact between his cock and Cas’s chest to set him off- and he swears he blacks out for a second or two as Cas continues to fuck him through it. He’s basically a rag doll- the way Cas is lifting him and slamming him back down roughly- until he stills inside him, biting Dean’s shoulder hard enough to leave a mark.

 

At least his jersey will cover that.

 

“Holy shit, Cas,” he gasps, dropping bonelessly back on to Cas’s raised knees. Cas can’t even respond, too focused on getting air back into his lungs as he drops his forehead onto Dean’s chest.

 

He was right. They definitely sweat more than they had at practice.

 

“I was- wrong,” he struggles to get out. “Should’ve let you do the leg work.”

 

Cas laughs- and it sounds _exhausted._

 

Their time together was nearing it’s end.

 

Dean needed to get back to his own hotel and his own bed. They both needed their rest for tomorrow, and were not off to a very promising start.

 

Dean softly moves Cas’s head back and kisses him; relaxed and slow.

 

“Stay,” Cas whispers against his lips.

 

“You know I can’t,” Dean whispers back. He knew this was coming, but it didn’t suck any less.

 

“But I’ll see you tomorrow,” he jokes, relieved when Cas at least smiles.

 

It’s something at least. The next few weeks was going to be hard, but at least they got this. And they wouldn’t be too far away from each other most days. It could be worse.

 

“I’ll see you,” Cas kisses each word into his skin, giving him the strength he needs to get his shit together and get going.

 

Tomorrow was going to be a long day….

 

*********

 

Every game has a vibe. Good or bad, the ninety minutes on the field was characterized by the feel of the crowd, the audience, the announcers, the refs, or the other players.

 

When Dean walks on to the field and into the sun, the first thing he thinks is; _holy shit is it loud._

 

Every seat is full. Practically every one is out of their seat and cheering, some chanting the lyrics to The White Stripes’s Seven Nation Army, and some even blowing their long horns. It’s a mesmerizing cacophony that has Dean wishing he could pause and take it all in.

 

But that’s out of the question.

 

It’s game time.

 

He wonders what Cas thinks of all this.

 

Warm up is a blur that’s over in a blink of an eye.

 

Soon his team is huddled in a circle and he’s giving his team the pep talk of the century, and then that’s done too.

 

Everyone gets into position, and he eyes the defender that’s going to be on his ass the entire game….and not in the fun way.

 

Cas winks back.

 

Now, more than ever, he's determined to hide how sore he is. 

 

He glares back.

 

Oh, it's on.

 

The whistles blows.

 

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Will probably revisit this some time or another. After watching a certain gif from the world cup, I just couldn't resist.


End file.
